Herculanium (13 page)

Preston closed his eyes. He could imagine seeing his father standing next to Erica, waving and smiling proudly. He could also see millions of fans chanting his name.

The shuttle began to hum and vibrate. The bright cabin lights dimmed to shades of its own color, before finally disappearing altogether. Only the aisle floor lights remained lit, a linear carpet of night-lights along a dark hallway. The stewardesses hurried through their routines before finally sitting down in their stations. It seemed that this flight was a new experience for them as well. The whine of powerful turbines came to life, adding to the ship’s already rumbling movement. Intercom dialogue and static continued to whisper ghostlike from the ship’s speakers. The scenery began to scroll outside the window, indicating that the plane was moving away from the terminal. It traveled for what seemed like minutes, passing numerous buildings and planes, before finally pausing and rotating at the edge of a glittering runway.

All the passengers fell silent. Not only was this a space flight, but it was a space flight at night. They were about to fly into the unknown, in the dark, above an ocean. Outside the windows were the surrounding hills of the Bay, and above them were the stars.

Over-the-shoulder harnesses gently lowered onto each passenger, similar to those used in monstrous roller coaster rides at amusement parks. The passengers all grabbed its handles in unison. The plane slowly edged forward in a leisurely pace, until the whine of powerful turbines erupted into a scream. Building to a terrifying crescendo, the jumbo jet accelerated forward and jerked itself up above the ground, somehow defying gravity and ascending into the darkness. The bright airport lights fell away, replaced by the panoramic view of San Francisco as seen only by angels. Landmarks, buildings, cars and houses became pin-pricks of jeweled light neatly arranged in geometric patterns strewn across a black velvet surface. The City looked like a mirror image of the stars above it, glittering infinitely in all directions. But this view was short-lived, vanishing behind streaming wisps of clouds that shrouded the night sky. The roar of the wind tapered off to mechanized hum as the engines leveled off and settled.

Beneath the yawning void before them, low on the horizon, was a salmon-colored arc. The shuttle was chasing a sunset on the other side of the world, a shooting star ridden by mortals on its way to the heaven that was Olympus.

Preston saw his reflection in the water just a short time earlier. He tried to breathe through his nose as much as possible, fearing the stench if he exhaled accidentally. Staying still and resting seemed the most prudent idea; he coddled the bowl, the cool metal rim adding a little relief to his cheek. Preston was definitely alive, the taste of vomit still fresh in his mouth. He didn’t dare flush the bowl, for the swirling water would just add to his vertigo.

The trip to Olympus was a blur, a hazy dream that didn’t seem real. Preston’s air-sickness had taken over early, causing him to slip in-and-out of sleep from medication and alcohol. He did his best to quell the nausea, but not even his basketball stamina could protect him. It worsened when the shuttle separated from the jumbo-jet and accelerated into orbit. There were no spectacular memories of seeing a sunrise above the clouds, nor the first view of breaking atmosphere; only the flashes of stewardesses scrambling to give him ice water, cold neck towels, and vomit bags. He didn’t even remember the shuttle docking and the passengers disembarking.

Twinkling stars of the galaxy became tinkling bubbles on the bottom of a toilet.

Despite jetlag and familiar vertigo, Micky came away from the trip surprisingly healthy. She survived the trip like a veteran, considering how much she hated riding roller coasters and riding skyscraper elevators. The scientists survived, some more vertical than others. The thrill of flying to an orbiting space station overcame their flight discomfort.

Preston raised his head and stood up, flushing the toilet with one hand and wiping his mouth with the other. Water came in a deceptive trickle and diluted the waste, before finally turbo-flushing itself to parts unknown.

“Thank you for using our facilities. Have a good day, Mr. Jones.”

Preston blinked in surprise, not believing the toilet just thanked him for using it. How did it know his name?

A soft chime came from the cabin’s front door, prompting Preston to hurry and clean up before answering.

“Good morning, Mr. Jones. How are you feeling?” A young black woman with a clipboard stood in front of his door, smiling with a grin that could blind a spotlight. “You were quite ill when you came on board, and I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Preston wiped his face again with his hand and smiled back.

“We’re having a staff orientation meeting in half an hour. We would like for you to attend.”

“What time is it, Miss…?” He was still fighting with vertigo.

“My name is Kendra Adams. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand and shook his with forceful enthusiasm.

“What time is it?”

“It’s 8:30 am, Monday morning. You’ve been in there for over a day.”

Preston squinted his eyes and shook his head. “I’ll be right down.”

“I’ll just wait outside here and escort you when you’re ready.”

“No, no you won’t. Just come back here in half an hour.”

Preston turned his back and closed the door before she could respond. Standing in place, he scanned the room from one corner to another. It was very cramp, almost Spartan. A single bed sat in a corner, flanked by a small lamp and nightstand. A humble entertainment center stood across the opposite wall, complete with a small transparent refrigerator. The bathroom was adjacent to the entrance, equipped with a shower and sink. Each piece of furniture didn’t seem to have a pointed edge to its corner, giving the appearance of a trendy and modern decor. Even the mounted picture frames were no more than a few inches across. The cabin’s dim pastel lighting almost made it look like a cave. Had he not taken the trip and threw up his lungs, he would not have believed this was a hotel room in space. There weren’t even any windows for him to enjoy the view.

His luggage sat next to his bed. At least they got that part correct, he thought. He began to unpack, looking for a shirt and slacks to change into. Upon unzipping his duffel bag, he saw the present Max had packed for him—a new portable laptop.

“Pres, this should make it easier for you to write more stories,” an attached note read. “Keep up the great work. Take care, buddy. Yours in Christ, Max.”

That son-of-a-bitch, Preston thought with a smile. He always knew what to get at the right time. Taking a deep breath, he ambled back to the bathroom.

* * *

Micky was already up when her escort arrived. She actually tried to get permission to begin work earlier, almost as soon as she arrived on the space station. Management, however, seemed to frown on unauthorized schedule changes. Her escort was nice and cordial enough, although a bit younger than what she would expect for space personnel. Walking through the hallways, she couldn’t help but notice how cramped everything was. A real space station wasn’t like in the science fiction movies she had seen, where everything was spacious and open. Olympus was quartered more like a battleship than anything else—efficient, organized, and ergonomically spaced.

In short, claustrophobic and structurally confounding.

She also expected to be bouncing off the walls and touching high ceilings in a near zero-gravity environment, but that, too, was different. Her footing was secure, and the gravity felt quite terrestrial. The only real difference between this station and earth was the air. It smelled different, as if it was recycled through filters.

Since arriving, she also had yet to see a window to the outside.

Micky was led to a conference room, where a few scientists and their escorts were already seated. She recognized some of them from the flight, but only a third was present. Thankfully, the conference room was quite spacious, almost resembling a business executive’s boardroom. Micky pulled out a pen and pad and continued to take notes.

“Always on assignment, aren’t we, Ms. Suarez?” Jillian Gracie entered the room and stood at the head of the table, greeting all the guests individually with a bright smile. “I like your work ethics; quite similar to mine.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Gracie. It’s been since…the initial press conference? Oh, and please call me Micky.”

“Thank you, Micky. I apologize for not meeting with you—with all of you—prior to today. Like its name implies, Olympus needs full-time attention and maintenance. If only the gods paid us more money.”

The room broke out in reserved laughter.

“At any rate, we are here now, and I hope to reacquaint myself with all of you again. I see one of the titans has yet to arrive. We’ll wait until he does so. Who is Mr. Jones’ escort?”

Micky’s escort stood up. “It’s Kendra Adams, Doctor. I believe she’s waiting by his quarters to escort him down. I saw her in front of his room earlier, when I escorted Ms. Suarez here.”

Micky stood up, smiling with her hands at her waist. “The only people who ever called me ‘Ms. Suarez’ were the nuns in my catholic high school. It’s just plain Micky, like the mouse.”

“All hands,” said Dr. Gracie, leaning into a microphone on the table and pretending to press a button, “from now on, Ms. Suarez will be forever known simply as Micky. Like the mouse. Captain out.”

Micky clapped her hands in amusement.

“There you go, Micky. Anyone who calls you anything otherwise will be shoved out of the nearest airlock. In the meantime, we have some coffee, juice and pastries in the back. Let us know what you think of the food. All of it was grown, cooked, or baked here on the station.”

Preston finally entered the room, followed closely by his escort. Still donning his familiar sunglasses, he was dressed more casual than his usual designer suits. Trying his best not to attract further attention, he sat on the far side of the table, behind Micky and the scientists.

“Sorry for being late. I was…preoccupied.”

“I understand,” said Dr. Gracie, nodding. “Thank you for joining us. I’m sure you’re already familiar with your co-passengers?”

Preston looked at the people seated and nodded his head. Micky refused to turn around and acknowledge him.

“I’d like to officially welcome all of you to the Olympus Space Station. Like its mythological namesake, we are literally sitting in the heavens above humanity. This station represents the ideals of humanity as it pertains to our future. It is our first step to conquering and colonizing space. At least that’s what our travel brochures will say.”

“Human ideals, huh?” Preston interjected. “Don’t you mean money, Dr. Gracie? Isn’t this what it’s all about? Corporate ventures into new resources to exploit and sell?”

“Of course it is, Mr. Jones. Earlier this century, NASA and its partners realized we couldn’t achieve space exploration without making certain…compromises. We had to make new partnerships with those who could finance our mission.”

“In other words, you guys sold out.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Mr. Jones. I am well aware of your financial endorsements. By your own definition, you have ‘sold out’ in more ways that we possibly ever could.”

Micky smiled from ear to ear, while Preston sat back in his chair, not wanting to pursue a debate. “Bitch,” he thought out loud.

“We have a few house-keeping business to take care of first. Could you all please direct your attention to the viewing screen behind me? We have some eager gentlemen on hold who are just dying to speak to Mr. Jones and Micky.”

A viewing screen came to life behind Dr. Gracie, with the familiar McGinnis Productions logo flying across the screen, which in turn faded to the smiling face of Richard Peryson.

“Good morning, everyone. We meet again, in yet another extraordinary circumstance. While I am here on terra firma, you are high above me in space. When will our adventures end? Preston, are you there? Can you hear me?”

“I’m here, Mr. Peryson. It’s good to see you.” Preston leaned forward and spoke into a conference-call microphone on the table. “I thought we were supposed to meet before the flight?”

“Unfortunately, certain matters had come up which prevented us from meeting. But I have met with your agent. I trust all is well?”

“Everything is fine. Is Max there?”

Peryson leaned back, and Max’s face quickly filled the screen.

“Pres, is that you? How you feeling, buddy? They told us you got a little sick. You alright?”

Preston visibly relaxed a bit more when he heard his agent’s voice. “The ride up here is something else. Next time, you’re coming up here with me. I’m going to kick your ass for making me fly up here.”

“The question is, how are
you
feeling, Max?”

Micky couldn’t help injecting herself in the conversation. “Well? Do we have to fly back down there to get the answer?” Micky smiled at the view screen with an almost seductive demeanor.

“I’m fine, Micky. Just taking care of business, as usual. You know me.”

“Actually,” interrupted Dr. Gracie, “they’ve yet to go on the tour. We’re having a short pow-wow right now, and then everyone will be off to see the station.”

“We won’t keep you, then,” said Peryson, reappearing on the viewing screen. “Please go about your business and we’ll talk soon. Mr. Jones, Ms. Suarez, scientists all, I wish you the best of luck. You should see the media frenzy that is happening right now. There has never been anything like this in history. Everything is building up to Olympus’s opening in two weeks. Good luck, and see you soon.”

The screen slowly faded to black. Preston could swear he heard Max cheering in the background. What a nut, he thought. He was probably making faces off-screen, too.

Dr. Gracie stood up. “We have our work cut-out for us, ladies and gentlemen. Are there any questions before we proceed with the tour?”

Preston raised his hand. “We’re going to be here for two weeks?”

“Most certainly more. But don’t worry; everything will be ready by that time. It will be up to all of us to promote this station and all its wonders to the world. It won’t be disappointed.”

“With all due respect, with what I’ve seen so far, it’s doesn’t look like much. It feels like we’re in a submarine. I wouldn’t pay a lot of money to be up here.”

“That’s because you’ve only seen the toilet and muffin dish behind you, Mr. Jones. There’s a lot more to see beyond these doors.”

Micky closed her notebook with a snap and stood up. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

Dr. Gracie took the point position of the tour, followed by Preston, Micky, and the scientists, with the station escorts trailing in the back. They walked through cramp, winding hallways, entering one section after another, through what seemed like endless heavy airlock doors. Large wall plating were strewn throughout the walkways, unattached and exposing electrical control panels. Ergonomic furniture sat unassuming in front of half-opened rooms, and construction graffiti decorated alternate walls. Large sections of carpeting were stacked to one side, some in rolls and others in pre-cut lengths and patterns. Lights flickered on and off at certain junctions, giving the tour the appearance of a Halloween haunted house. There were even exposed wiring snaking on the floors and hanging from the ceiling; luckily, no power was surging through them.

Dr. Gracie remained quiet through the brisk walk, causing the members to look at each other in bewilderment. Even Micky stopped taking notes for need of explanations.

“Like I said,” said Preston with a smirk, “this is what I’m supposed to be promoting?”

“Actually, I had more this in mind for you to promote.” Dr. Gracie opened one final access door and directed everyone to come in before her. She then closed the door shut and observed everyone’s reaction.

Silence befell the room.

* * *

Peryson sat in his plush office chair, adjusting his glasses as he proof-read the text for Olympus’ promotional brochure. He worked closely with his copywriters at the desired wording, having gone through dozens of drafts to achieve the right tone. It was a welcome change for him, having spent the two previous weeks with several designers on constructing the station’s graphic identity. Color schemes were finalized to match the inside motif of Olympus, as was the intricate logo design. All that was left now was to check over the promotional proofs and then send them to the printers.